Who are they, that complain unto the King,
That I, forfooth, am ftern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly,
That fill his ears with fuch diffentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter, and look fair,
Smile in mens' faces, fmooth, deceive and cog,
Duck with French nods, and apish courtesie,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his fimple truth must be abus'd
By filken, fly, infinuating Jacks?

Gray. To whom in all this prefence fpeaks your Grace?
Glo. To thee, that haft nor honefty, nor grace:
When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong?
Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction?

A plague upon you all! His royal person,
Whom God preserve better than you would wish,
Cannot be quiet fcarce a breathing while,
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
Queen. Brother of Glofter, you mistake the matter:
The King of his own royal difpofition,

And not provok'd by any fuitor else,
(Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward action fhews itself
Against my children, brothers, and myself;)
Makes him to fend, that he may learn the ground
Of your ill will, and thereby to remove it.

Glo. I cannot tell; the world is grown fo bad,
That wrens make prey, where eagles dare not perch.
Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle perfon made a Jack.

Queen. Come, come, we know your meaning, bro-
ther Glofter.

You envy my advancement and my friends :
God grant, we never may have need of you!

Glo. Mean time, God grants that we have need of you. Our brother is imprison'd by your means;

Myfelf difgrac'd ; and the nobility

Held in contempt; while many fair promotions
Are daily given to ennoble thofe,

That

That scarce, fome two days fince, were worth a noble. Queen. By him, that rais'd me to this careful height, From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,

I never did incenfe his Majefty

Against the Duke of Clarence; but have been
An earnest Advocate to plead for him.

My Lord, you do me fhameful injury,
Falfely to draw me in these wild fufpects.

Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause
Of my Lord Haftings' late imprisonment.

Riv. She may, my Lord, for

Glo. She may, Lord Rivers-why, who knows not fo? She may do more, Sir, than denying That : She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts.

What may the not? fhe may-ay, marry, may fheRiv. What, marry, may fhe?

Glo. What, marry, may fhe? marry with a King, A batchelor, a handsom ftripling too:

I wis, your grandam had a worfer match.

Queen. My Lord of Glo' fter, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter fcoffs: By heav'n, I will acquaint his Majesty, Of those grofs taunts I often have endur'd. I had rather be a country fervant-maid, Than a great Queen with this condition; To be thus taunted, fcorn'd and bated at. Small joy have I in being England's Queen. Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. And leffen'd be that small, God, I befeech thee!

Thy honour, ftate, and feat is due to me.

Glo. What! threat you me with telling of the King? Tell him, and spare not: Look, what I have faid, (3)

I

(3) Tell bim, and spare not; Look, what I have faid.] This Verfe, which was at first left out by the Players in their Im

preffion

I will avouch in prefence of the King:

'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot.

Q. Mar. Out, devil ! I remember thee too well:
Thou kill'dft my husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor fon, at Tewksbury.

Glo. Ere you were Queen, ay, or your husband King, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;

A weeder out of his proud Adverfaries,

A liberal rewarder of his friends;

To royalize his blood, I fpilt mine own.

Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his or thine; Glo. In all which time you and your husband Gray Were factious for the House of Lancaster;

And, Rivers, fo were you; -was not your husband,
In Margret's battle, at St. Albans flain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere now, and what you are:
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar. A murth'rous villain, and so still thou art.
Glo, Poor Clarence did forfake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forfwore himself, (which, Jefu, pardon!
Q. Mar. Which God revenge!.

Glo. To fight on Edward's party for the crown
And for his meed, poor Lord, he is mew'd up:
I would to God, my heart were flint, like Edward's ;
Or Edward's foft and pitiful, like mine;

I am too childish-foolish for this world.

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for fhame, and leave this world,

Thou Cacodæmon! there thy kingdom is.

Riv. My Lord of Glo'fter, in those bufie days,
Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
We follow'd then our Lord, our lawful King;
So fhould we you, if you should be our King.

Glo. If I fhould be!I had rather be a pedlar:
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.

preffion (in which the modern Editors have follow'd them) I have restor❜d from the old Quarto's; and, indeed, without it, she Verse, which immediately follows, is hardly Sense.

Qucen

Queen. As little joy, my Lord, as you fuppofe You should enjoy, were you this country's King; As little joy you may suppose in me,

That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the Queen thereof; For I am fhe, and altogether joyless.

I can no longer hold me patient.

Hear me, you wrangling Pirates, that fall out
In fharing that which you have pill'd from me;
Which of you trembles not, that looks on me?
If not that I being Queen, you bow like fubjects;
Yet that by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'ft thou in my fight?

Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou haft marr'd,
That will I make, before I let thee go.
A husband and a fon thou ow'ft to me:
And thou, a kingdom; all of you, allegiance;

[To Glo.

[To the Queen.

The forrow, that I have, by Right is yours;
And all the pleasures, you ufurp, are mine.

Glo. The curfe my noble father laid on thee,
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy fcorns drew'ft rivers from his eyes,
And then, to dry them, gav'it the Duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultlefs blood of pretty Rutland;
His curfes, then from bitterness of foul
Denounc'd against thee, are now fall'n upon thee;
And God, not we, has plagu'd thy bloody deed.

Q. Mar. So juft is God, to right the innocent. Haft. O, 'twas the fouleft deed to flay that babe, And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. Riv. Tyrants themselves wept, when it was reported. Dorf. No man but prophefy'd revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to fee it. Q. Mar. What! were you fnarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat,

And turn you all your hatred now on me?

Did York's dread curfe prevail fo much with heav'n,

That

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their Kingdom's lofs, my woful banishment,
Could all but anfwer for that peevish brat?
Can curfes pierce the clouds, and enter heav'n?
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curfes!
If not by war, by furfeit die your King,

As ours by murther, to make him a King!
Edward thy fon, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward our fon, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!
hyfelf a Queen, for me that was a Queen,
Out-live thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'ft thou live to wail thy children's lofs,
And fee another, as I fee thee now,

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art ftall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death,
And after many length'ned hours of grief,
Die, neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen!
Rivers and Dorset, you were ftanders by,

And fo waft thou, Lord Haftings, when my fon
Was ftabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live your natural age,
But by fome unlook'd accident cut off!

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag. Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou fhalt hear me.

If heav'ns have any grievous plague in flore,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it, till thy fins be ripe;
And then hurl down their indignation

On thee, thou troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of confcience ftill be-gnaw thy foul;
Thy friends fufpect for traitors while thou liv'ft,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends;
No fleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while fome tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish markt abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity

The dave of nature, and the fon of hell!

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